


Why Did It Have to Be Me?

by PhookaUpsidedown



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Gen, M/M, secretaries and their bosses are gay i don't make the rules sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhookaUpsidedown/pseuds/PhookaUpsidedown
Summary: Charles Thomson really doesn't think that he's going to get along with John Hancock. John has other ideas.





	Why Did It Have to Be Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Well here's my second attempt at a 1776 fic! Hope everyone enjoys, and I might add chapters on if anyone wants!

 Charles wasn’t quite sure that he and the newest president of Congress were going to get along very well. The men had put it to a vote that one John Hancock should preside, and that Mr. John Hancock had waved his hand and shook his head and had said “no”, until the Virginian Benjamin Harrison had literally picked the man up and put him in the President’s seat. There had been a fire in Hancock’s eyes for a moment, and Charles was sure that the chair was about to go flying across the room, but the fire dimmed and Hancock had made himself comfortable.

 “Fine,” Hancock grumbled, making a bit of a show of resting his face in his hand. “I suppose nobody wants to make a movement to adjourn?”

 There was a chorus of laughter amongst most of the statesmen, and Hancock had leaned back in his chair, casting a glance at Charles as he did so. Charles simply shrugged.

 “Well, looks like we’ll be getting to be the best of friends, won’t we, Mr. Thomson?”

 Another shrug had settled the conversation for that day, and even for a while after that. Charles didn’t think that Hancock had been the best man for the job, and that was just out of the ones named ‘John’, but maybe he was wrong. Though he threatened to fall asleep most days, Hancock really wasn’t all that bad, especially not with the social aspect of being president. Take the current day, for example.

 “Congress adjourned!”

 The shout was followed with the same vicious smack of a gavel that always came with it, and Hancock was beaming. Charles knew he was about to run out as fast as he could possibly get his coat on, but the secretary was caught by surprise by another hearty shout.

 “Sam Adams! Get over here!”

 There was a collective “oooooh” from the exiting Southerners, a call that had probably started with Rutledge, but Sam and Hancock both chose to ignore it. As Charles worked to sort out what papers needed to be sorted, Hancock took a seat on his desk, and Sam was looking…well, confused, to say the least.

 “I didn’t do it,” Charles heard Sam start off, and he had to hide a bit of a grin.

 “Yeah, no. Not what we’re talking about right now,” Hancock replied, ignoring whatever implications could come along with Samuel Adams insisting he hadn’t done something. “Stand still.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I said to, Sam.”

 Charles glanced up from his work to see the two men from Massachusetts glaring at each other for a solid moment before Hancock won, and smiled smugly about it. Sam’s eyes rolled, and Hancock reached out to grab the fabric of Sam’s coat.

 “You wore this yesterday.”

 “Yes?”

 “It’s worn out.”

 “Yes.”

 “You could have said something, Sam. Here, hang on.”

 Again, Charles paused in his work, especially since Sam Adams started up with protests against something or another. He was curious to see that Hancock was simply holding out some money. Was this something that usually happened?

 “Here, you have to take it, and you can’t say no because my friends aren’t allowed to look like they live in barns.”

 Hancock was doing that half smile of his as Sam Adams begrudgingly took his money and stormed out. The president of Congress at least had the decency to not laugh until the door was closed, and eventually, he turned to Charles, grinning. Charles wasn’t exactly sure what he was grinning about and raised an eyebrow in return. That alone was enough to make Hancock’s smile drop off his face.

 “What?” the man asked, his head now tilted a fraction to the side.

 “Do you treat all your friends like that?”

 Hancock frowned, considering that. “Well, yes. Here, I’ll prove it, I don’t think I have ever seen you do a single fun thing since I got to this damn city.”

 With that, the younger man slid from his desk and grabbed Charles by the arm, leading him out into the night. They passed both irritated-looking Adams cousins, some slow-walking Virginians, young Thomas Jefferson among them, and finally, Charles found himself being led into some kind of market. He did not trust this at all, but Hancock still had a hold on him.

 “Should I trust your definition of fun?” he eventually asked. “Seeing as you were involved in the whole…Boston Tea Party business.”

 “That, Charles, is exactly why you should trust me when I say fun. That was fun.”

 Charles almost stopped being polite right then and there, but as there were no boats around, he figured they couldn’t possibly get into that much trouble. Well, even if they did end up getting into that much trouble, Charles might actually be remembered for something in the future, so why not? He was here now, and it was better than just being around his little rented rooms for half the night. Forcing himself to relax, he followed John through the small street, stopping whenever he did, and looking at whatever there was to be sold. Hancock kept stopping at books and little trinkets, then looking at Charles, like he was looking for a reaction. It was slightly unnerving, but Charles got used to it quickly enough.

 As it was getting late, Charles happened on a ring that caught his eye. It was simple, but decorated through with Celtic knots that reminded him of his family. He picked it up, examined it, and nearly yelped when it was taken from his hands. He turned to the offender, only to find Hancock paying for it with a smile on his face and a very polite thanks to the man who ran the stall, all before Charles could say anything against what was happening. Charles struggled to find words for a moment, and in that moment, John Hancock had pressed the ring into his hand, closed his hand around it, and had let himself get caught up in a crowd. Now Charles was standing alone, dumbfounded and with a ring in his hand.

 Frowning to himself, Charles made his way home, trying to figure out just what this meant. Hancock surely didn’t like him all that much, but the ring had been expensive enough, especially since Hancock wasn’t getting paid to be in Congress. Did he really just treat everyone like this? Was this a sign of friendship? Was it better than that? There was an endless trail of thoughts through Charles’ head, even after he got home and intended to sleep, and night changed to morning without him even nodding off.

 Tired, Charles got ready for his next day, and, needing something to do with it, slipped the ring onto his middle finger. Not unusually, he was one of the first to arrive, just after Mr. Hopkins, who was already calling for rum. In the back of his mind, Charles found it within himself to feel sorry for McNair, but he was distracted by the entrance of Hancock, who was looking well rested and quite pleased with himself.

 “Well, Thomson, I’m glad you aren’t as stubborn as old Sam,” the grinning man remarked as he passed, taking his seat and leaning back in his chair to smoke his pipe.

 Oh, so it was going to be like that. Why did it have to be him?


End file.
